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User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 3
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Three “Courage exists when one is fully aware of the potential consequences of one’s actions.” “Perhaps we should begin with enumerating the hazards of Animagus transformation,” Professor Dumbledore said. He and Minerva were seated comfortably in his office, not across the large mahogany desk, but rather in two comfortable club chairs separated by a low table on which sat a china tea service. She tried not to smile at the obvious Puffskein of a question he had lobbed at her. “Well, the first is incomplete transformation. That would be dangerous if the subject managed to transform internal organs without any outward changes. He or she might not notice until becoming ill,” she said. “Yes. And how would one defend against it?” “First and foremost, Professor, would be to avoid doing it in the first place.” “Indeed,” he said with a smile. “But supposing one had not followed your sage advice?” “After any unsuccessful attempt at transformation, the subject should take a careful inventory of all organ systems.” “And I assume you can tell me what these are.” “Of course: skeletal, muscular, circulatory, integumentary, nervous, respiratory, immune, excretory, endocrine, reproductive, digestive.” She rattled the names off quickly. “Very good, Miss McGonagall. I must admit to forgetting them myself at times.” “I use a mnemonic, it makes it easier.” “Oh, and what is it?” Her lips thinned and a blush crept up from beneath her collar. “I ... um ...” “I see. Well, certain mnemonics are ''more memorable than others,” he said, the blasted twinkle in his eye scintillating at her. “Perhaps you’ll share it with me one day.” She dropped her eyes to her lap. ''Not a chance, she thought. Einar had taught her the mnemonic, which he had learnt from an older Muggle friend who was hoping to follow in his father’s medical footsteps. The boy was well known for his crude humour, which was probably why Einar found him so fascinating. Her brother was altogether too interested in Muggle jokes and knew some really filthy ones. She looked at her professor once more and pressed on. “Another significant hazard is the inability to change back to human form. It occurs most often when the subject is insufficiently focused and loses awareness of his or her human identity once transformed into the Animagus form. That’s why it’s essential to complete the first transformations under the observation of a skilled tutor, who will be able to assist the subject in re-transforming to human form. Once the subject has mastered both aspects of the transformation, the danger is much less.” “Good. Go on.” “Then there’s the form the Animagus takes. Until the first transformation happens, nobody knows what species of animal the subject will be. There is the possibility that it will be a dangerous creature, which poses a hazard for the observer,” she said. Some mischief made her add, “But, as the Animagus form is thought to be a reflection of the subject’s human qualities, I daresay you’ll be safe enough with me.” Miss McGonagall, you are dangerous enough in your human form, he thought. He smiled at her and said, “Nevertheless, I must confess I’m glad your first complete transformation will likely be Professor Falco’s worry rather than mine.” She was slightly chagrined when she realised her joking comment had sounded like cockiness. It was highly unlikely that she would be able to complete a transformation before she had at least several months of study with Professor Falco under her belt, by which time she would be far from Hogwarts and Professor Dumbledore. The thought gave her a momentary zing of pain in her chest. “Of course, sir,” she said. He was still smiling at her, so she went on. “Then there are the dangers inherent to whichever form the Animagus takes. If one becomes, for example, an animal low on the food chain, one risks becoming prey every time one transforms. Or if one becomes something very small—say an insect—there is the risk of getting ...” “Squashed,” he finished. She grimaced. “Yes. And as a female, there is, of course, the possibility of an attack by the male of whatever species one becomes,” she said. “Indeed. This is especially a concern for those who become mammals; one would need to be very cautious about transforming during the period of œstrus.” “Yes, sir. In that case, it would be especially important to understand the œstrus cycle of the animal in question.” “Yes, but also—please forgive me, my dear—the female subject should be aware of her period of fertility as a human. I trust you are familiar with the concept.” “Of course, sir.” There was no hint of embarrassment, he noted. Merlin, but she was an interesting girl! “Good.” There was a slightly awkward pause as he peered at her before he said, “I think you’ve got a good grasp of the hazards. Now let’s discuss the theory. Why, in your opinion, is Animagus transformation so difficult and so rarely achieved?” This was the part she was eager to get to. “Well, sir, it has to do with our incomplete understanding of the concept of ‘self’. There are a number of philosophical approaches to the subject, but none are completely satisfactory, in my estimation. For example, the Aristotelian tradition holds that the soul is at the centre of selfhood and being, but that it cannot be considered separate from the corporeal being. For Aristotle and his philosophical successors, soul, body, and action are, in essence, one. This works well with our understanding of Animagus transformation on one level, but the Aristotelian tenet that different and distinct souls necessarily consist in different beings because they have different functions isn’t consistent with what we understand of Transfiguration of living beings. The Animagus’s sense of ‘self’ may be altered somewhat, but it remains essentially the same as that of its human form.” Ordinarily, Albus would interject with questions when working with an advanced student, in order to lead the student to greater revelations, but Minerva’s discourse was so interesting that he could not bring himself to interrupt until she had held forth on Hume, Locke, Avicenna, and the Buddha, methodically enumerating the ways in which their teachings did and did not apply to Animagus transformation. At last, he said, “You are impressively well read on the topic, and you’ve obviously put a great deal of thought into this. But I’m afraid you haven’t answered my original question: Why is Animagus transformation so difficult?” She swallowed. Why did she have to be such a great, sodding git? Showing off for Professor Dumbledore again. Of course, she hadn’t really meant to show off; she had just warmed to the topic and the words came tumbling out. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. I was going to get to it eventually. Successfully transforming oneself from human to animal while retaining one’s human consciousness requires, in my opinion, the ability to know one’s self and accept all the facets of it, even those one would prefer to overlook. It requires a kind of ...” She searched for the right word. “Courage?” “Yes, but it’s a bit more than that, I think.” She hesitated, afraid to sound swotty again. “Go on,” he urged. “Naïveté.” “Explain.” “Courage exists when one is fully aware of the potential consequences of one’s actions. Introspection, in its beginning, is an exploration. The consequences are unknown. The seeker must be willing to accept that unknown—that’s where the courage comes in—but at the same time remain innocent of attempting to direct the exploration.” He was silent for a few moments, and she was almost afraid she had displeased him with her answer. But he broke into a wide, beaming smile. “Minerva, my dear, you are a wonder.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. She felt the flush start all the way at her toes. Damn her pale skin! He looked away almost shyly, then said, “And it appears we have overshot our allotted time by forty-five minutes. I’m afraid I have some other duties I must attend to. And I hope you have something more pleasant planned for your afternoon than spending it with your old professor.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “You’re not old,” but she didn’t have that kind of courage yet. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you, sir.” “Not at all, it was a great pleasure. Tomorrow, then? At the same time?” “I’ll look forward to it, sir.” “As will I, my dear.” After she had gone, he realised he had been rather enjoying the view of her from behind as she left his office. She wasn’t wearing her usual black scholar’s robes with the Gryffindor crest, and her long, straight, tartan skirt afforded him a pleasant glimpse of her shape as she walked away. He was beginning to understand the utility of having students wear shapeless black robes in class. They came to Hogwarts as eleven-year-olds, but they grew—some of them into quite attractive young ladies and gentlemen. It was prudent to keep distracting curves and muscles well hidden beneath yards of wool and muslin, both for the sake of the students, and, it must be said, for the staff. Albus had on occasion noticed how pretty one or the other of his charges had become over a summer, and he didn’t castigate himself over it. It was a natural reaction, he reasoned, and never had he entertained any serious thoughts about acting on a momentary impulse. The problem, my boy, he said to himself, is that this is becoming more than a momentary impulse. He couldn’t put his finger on just when he had started to notice Minerva McGonagall as more than his most gifted student. His awareness of her physical presence had grown gradually over the past year until it had intensified to what he recognised, with shock, as longing. It was not mere desire—he could put a lid on that quite effectively—but it was as if, in order to function properly, he needed a certain measure of her every day: to see her, to hear her, and, Merlin help him, to touch her. The touches were always innocent, or at least, innocent-seeming: his hand resting briefly on her shoulder to attract her attention when a word alone would have sufficed, a finger lingering a second too long on her hand as he corrected her wand work, and of course, the time she had kissed his cheek in thanks for agreeing to help her with her Animagus training. That had been like a sudden burst of colour in an otherwise grey painting. The whisper of her breath on his cheek, her lips brushing his skin, the feel of her fingers clasping the back of his shoulders as she hugged him, and the unmistakable press of her breasts against his chest had nearly brought him to his knees. He was pleased to think she had noticed nothing of his predicament that day, but he had a suspicion that something had been in her mind since. When she had mentioned beginning their lessons over the Christmas holiday, his first impulse had been to demur. Even in his reverie, he had realised that such an arrangement posed temptations and hazards he would prefer not to think about. But the fresh memory of the feel of her against him, coupled with her question about his plans, had prompted him to agree without quite meaning to. He had been irrationally concerned that she might think him attached in some way and wanted to reassure her that he was a free man. It wasn’t so, of course. He was not free; he was a professor and more than forty years her senior. He should not have cared whether she believed him single, married, or gayer than a Maypole. But he did. Her slightly insouciant banter with him was not especially new; she had been quick-witted in that way from their earliest acquaintance, once she had got the lay of the land, so to speak. She seemed to know that what would have seemed impertinent to another professor was simply amusing to him and served only as an unspoken acknowledgement of their nearly matched intellects—as unlikely as that was. She was not a girl to hide her intelligence, and he had a sense that she had hungered to find one that matched her own since coming to school. Her father had been her sole challenger for the early years of her youth, and she had been clearly excited to find another person who would neither patronise nor coddle her. The blushing, though. That was a change. You need to tread very carefully, Professor, he told himself. He wondered if there was a way to ask her to wear her black robe to their next lesson without arousing her suspicions. He also wondered if he wanted to. ← Back to Chapter 2 On to Chapter 4 → Category:Chapters of Epithalamium